


We Are Wolves

by Kat18



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-28 00:14:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/985324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat18/pseuds/Kat18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saxa must lead her pack against the growing threat of Marcus Crassus and his army from Rome. AKA: Saxa is a werewolf alpha and kicks-ass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Are Wolves

**Author's Note:**

> A big thanks to punk4life1315 for her amazing artwork (#17). It gave me so much inspiration and you can never have too much kick-ass Saxa in your life. Also, thanks to the mods for putting this challenge together and be so great about my constant tardiness.

 

 

 

It starts as a whisper. The wind carrying word of coming danger. A growing sense of dread in the air. 

The hunters return with game that tastes of fear. The scouts report a darkness spreading throughout the woods.

The Seers read the ruins and see death. 

When the traders return with rumors of tribes falling to a great army, of warriors dying and the survivors sent off in chains Saxa knows something is coming.

By the time messenger from the Cherusci arrives Saxa has prepared herself for the worst. 

The messenger is led into the great hall, brought forward by Nasir and Lugo. Saxa sits in her great chair at the head of the hall, the ancient chair proclaiming her as Alpha. It’s well worn, used by the countless Alphas who came before her, the history of her people carved into the sacred wood.

The man who kneels before her is familiar, a trusted messenger of Chief Radek. He has knelt before her many times, delivering word of the Cherusci people and turning over gifts for her Beta. He was there nearly ten years ago when Radek came to her, newly proclaimed Alpha and still untested, looking for an alliance between the Cherusci and her pack.

The messenger had been there when Saxa took Radek’s daughter Belesa as wife, securing the alliance.

He kneels before her now, body exhausted, dirty from his travels. He looks like a man who’s recently been in a fight; fresh wounds and bruises litter his face. He smells of blood and death and battle.

Saxa’s wolf purrs, wanting to come out. 

“Great Queen, I am Hildenfuns, sent by Chief Radek to beg your aid.”

Saxa remains silent, letting Agron, her second and right hand, speak on her behalf. His voice calls out across the hall, loud and clear so that everyone in the hall may hear. “Why would the great people of the Cherusci need of us?”

“A great army come from Rome has swept across the southern lands, defeating and enslaving many great tribes. Chief Radek allied with our neighbors but despite our increased numbers we were defeated. What remains of our armies has fled north. We ask for your permission to enter your lands, to hunt your game and to seek shelter among your tribe. And finally, we ask for warriors so we may once again face the army of Rome and drive them from our lands.”

“Hildenfuns, go back and tell your Chief that the Teuton pack will welcome him and all his allies. And that my warriors will help them defeat this army of Rome.” Saxa motions to Lugo, still standing next to Hildenfuns. “Lugo will go with you and provide you an escort back.”

Lugo bows to her before leading Hildenfuns out of the great hall. Once they’re gone the hall erupts in voices and howls, her people asking for answers to questions she doesn’t even know. Granting her permission and offering to fight alongside her father-in-law was an easy decision, their alliance called for it and her honor demanded it. And if there is to be a battle to protect their land from invaders, Saxa will make sure she and her warriors are there to ensure the defeat of their enemies.

 

XXXXXX

  

Saxa finds Belesa in their chambers at the back of the great hall. She was sitting on their next of furs, yanking at the knotted laces on one of her tunics. The knots remained locked together and Saxa could see Belesa getting more and more frustrated till she gave up and threw the tunic across the room.

“Giving up?”

Belesa growled as Saxa laughed and came to sit next to her. “It’s your fault they’re so knotted. If you had waited so I could unlace them properly...” Saxa kissed her, stopping her words in favor of the kiss. 

Pulling away Saxa looked at her mate, marveling as she always did at her beauty. She would never forget the moment she first saw Belesa, standing behind her father, dutifully fulfilling the role of supportive daughter and tribe princess. She had been beautiful and kind and she had smelled so sweet. The wolf inside of Saxa had purred and preened and Saxa had known from that moment that this woman was her match.

After that, agreeing to the treaty with Radek and the Cherusci had been easy. And while Radek had at first been reluctant to wed his daughter to a newly elected female Alpha, mostly likely resigning Belesa to a childless marriage among a wild and mysterious tribe he had little choice after it was he who had come seeking the alliance.

And after Belesa herself had gladly agreed to the match he had given his consent and Saxa took Belesa as her mate, binding herself and her pack to a human tribe.

It had proven to be a wise choice, over the years Belesa has proven herself a loving mate and grown into a worthy pack Beta. She’s return Saxa love and faith in equal measure and a year after their first mating, Belesa asked Saxa to turn her, truly making her pack.

Beyond giving the pack a strong and beloved Beta, the alliance had increased the pack’s trading options and given them an inlet into the human world should they ever need it. And now, it would mean war. 

The Teutons were no strangers to war. They were a pack born in blood and breed for battle, their history full of battles waged against human aggressors and greedy human Chiefs looking to expand their tribe’s territories.  In the short time since she had became Alpha, Saxa has led her pack into battle several times. Her wolves reveled in blood and were warriors of unparalleled skill and strength; but no matter their strength or skill or bloodlust, there was always a cost. 

But looking at Belesa now, Saxa knows she will pay any price to keep Belesa and her pack safe. Even if it means fighting alongside humans. Even if it means the loss of her warriors. Even if it means her life.

As she has so many times before Belesa senses the change in Saxa’s moods, knows that something is going on with her mate. “What are you thinking?”

“Your father’s messenger, Hildenfuns, was just here. He brought news from your father. His tribe, your blood tribe, went to battle against an army from Rome. They were defeated.”

“My father?”

“He’s alive.” Belesa sighed in relief, dropping her head to rest again Saxa’s shoulder. “I’ve sent Lugo to escort him and what remains of the Cherusci and their allies here. I’ve pledged our support and aid.”

They sit there, resting against each other, Saxa running her fingers through Belesa’s hair. The arrival of the refugee tribes will leave little time for them to spend together and Saxa plans on making the most of it.

 

XXXXXX

  

Lugo returns with the Cherusci and their allies two days later. Among the them Saxa recognizes members of the Tencteri tribe and the Hermunduri, the Marcomanni and the Frisii; tribes that would normally be at odds with each other, more inclined to fight each other than together. It’s a true testament to what kind of threat the approaching army is.

What remains of the tribe are mostly women and children, the elderly and wounded; what few warriors remain are battle worn and demoralized. They come loaded down with whatever possessions they could carry, wagons loaded with supplies and the wounded. They smell of exhaustion and sadness and a growing fear at the wolves walking among them.

Belesa and the head of her guard Donar see to the refugees, sending the healers to the wounded and preparing their encampment while Agron gathers the Chiefs of each tribe, bringing them before Saxa in the great hall.

There are five Chiefs in all, each representing a once mighty tribe that has now fallen to the Roman army. Chief Radek steps forward, speaking on behalf of his fellow leaders. “On behalf of the Cherusi people and these Chiefs here assembled, we thank you for your assistance. We are honored by your hospitality and look forward to repaying you and your tribe with the gift of Roman blood.”

“A worthy gesture. One I look forward to accepting.” Instead of sitting alone on her great chair Saxa has a table set up to they can all sit and strategize. But she still sits at the head of the table; there will be no mistake as to who is Alpha here.

Once everyone is seated, Agron on her right and Radek on her left, Saxa asks for a complete accounting of Rome’s army.

Radek continues to speak on behalf of the other Chiefs. “It started with the Marcomanni. A Roman envoy came to them on behalf of their Imperator, Marcus Crassus, with terms for an alliance. Chief Odolf refused the alliance and he and his tribe were destroyed. It was the same with the Hermunduri, and the Tencteri, and the Frisii. Every tribe who refused to bow down before Crassus and his terms were destroyed. Anyone who survived the battle was sent back to Rome to be sold as slave. The few that escaped fled north.”

“And what were these terms of alliance that Rome thinks we would bow to?”

 “Agreeing to the terms would bring us under Roman control. We rule in their name, fight in their wars and pay them a yearly tribute in coin and goods. In exchange we retain the title of Chief and get to remain on our lands.”

“That’s generous of them.” Saxa smirks, knowing that none of the men sitting at her table would ever agree to an alliance that would put themselves or their tribe under such control. It’s unthinkable. “Nasir, what do you know of their leader, Marcus Crassus?”

The young man standing behind Agron’s chair steps forward, his dark skin and small frame so different than the rest of her tribe’s coloring and stature. He came to the tribe two winters ago, stumbled out of the woods half crazed with hunger and collapsing on the outskirts of their encampment. Lugo found him and carried him to the healers before reporting the discovery to Agron. 

From the moment Agron laid eyes on the young man he had been smitten, fascinated by this man so different from them. He insisted on questioning Nasir himself, reporting back to Saxa the story of a boy from a distant land enslaved in his childhood, passing from Roman master to Roman master before finally escaping. He’d been running for months, fleeing as far from Rome as he could. 

And now, two years later he was one of her fiercest warriors and a trusted member of the pack, mated to Agron and her chief scout. He was also the only one among them who had any first hand experience with Rome.

“He’s the richest man in all of Rome. Nearly the entire Senate has barrowed money from him. And they all hate him for it. He’s a powerful man but he never showed any interest in the military before.”

“Conquering land and demanding yearly tributes seems like an excellent way to increase ones wealth and expand ones power.”

Nasir nodded. “They say Crassus never does anything unless there’s profit. My old dominus had dealings with him, said the man was a ruthless businessman and the craftiest person to ever live. If he’s bought himself an army to conquer lands on behalf of Rome he’s doing it for a reason and he won’t stop till he’s achieved his goal.”

The table was silent, each person realizing what it would mean to have a man that powerful leading an army that large determined to bring the tribes to heel.

“Well then,” Saxa addressed the table. “We better start preparing.”

 

XXXXXX

 

The next few weeks are a blur of activity; training the tribes to fight together, gathering supplies, forging weapons, drafting battle plans…the wolf inside of Saxa relishes the frenzy, feeds off the training and the coming of war but it leaves Saxa exhausted. At night she all blissfully into Belesa’s arms, lacking the energy to do anything but hold her mate close.

Two full moon cycles pass before their scouts return with word that Marcus Crassus and his army have been spotted. It would take them four days march to reach the pack’s lands but that’s as close as Belesa will allow them.

She sends a messenger with a request to meet and discuss terms with Marcus Crassus. Saxa wants to meet the man who is killing and enslaving the lands east of the Rhine. She would know the man who seeks to bring her pack to heel and give him a chance to turn away and go back to Rome. Leave her pack in peace.

The messenger returns, her request has been granted and the location set.

She leaves the next day, with Agron and Nasir accompanying her. She leaves Belesa in charge with Donar to aid her, her father to help navigate the human tribes, and her personal guard Naevia to protect her.

It takes them three days to reach the agreed upon location. A large red tent is set up in the middle of the field, it’s entrance guarded by two sentries. It’s gaudy and unnecessary much like everything Roman.

They’re greeted by a soldier in heavy armor covered in gold and insignia, a ridiculous helmet set on his head. He eyes them with open disdain, leering at Saxa.

“Imperator Crassus waits for you inside.” He addresses Agron before leading them into the tent.

Inside the tent is sparse, just a table with two chairs and of course, the Legions standards and Eagle standing tall and proud behind the table. The table is bare except for a single map and a carafe of wine with matching silver goblets. And standing behind the table is a man, tall and lean with the bearing of a man used to being obeyed. His armor is clean and new, untouched by battle or blood. He takes his time looking them over, taking them in inch by inch, scrutinizing them for any perceived weakness. Whatever he finds his face gives nothing away.

When he’s done his focus turns to Agron, speaking to him as leader. “I understand you wish to seek an alliance between the Teuton people and Rome. I am here to offer terms that will benefit both of us.”

“Any terms you wish to discuss will be negotiated with our Alpha.” Agron bows his head to Saxa.

Crassus looks at her for a long time, his face shifting from surprise to humor to disdain and dismissal. The young soldier who escorted them into the tent laughs.

“I heard that some tribes east of the Rhine let their men be led by women.” Crassus sneered. Agron growls, tensing besides Saxa, ready to spring at the insult. Nasir steps forward, ready to back up his mate. Saxa calls him off. It would do no good to kill Crassus now. His death won’t send his army back to Rome.

“A tradition my pack has long engaged in for many generations. To our great benefit.” Saxa has no problem letting him think her pack is weak for having her as a leader, has no problem with him believing she cannot stand equal among men and will be easily defeated, has no problem letting him believe she can controlled. His folly and arrogance, his prejudice will be his downfall.

“What terms would you offer me and my pack for us to ally with Rome and her interests?”

“The terms are this: Rome will acknowledge you as tribe leader, you and your tribe will keep your lands and will be free to live as you see fit. In exchange for this recognition you will pay Rome a yearly tribute, provide men for any military excursions, and seek counsel from my son Tiberius on any major decisions concerning the tribe.”

“Your son?” The young soldier who laughed at them steps forward. The boy’s entitlement, his arrogance plain to see, his self-regard extreme despite his tender years and inexperience. Saxa’s looking forward to watching him get his due.

“Tiberius will be staying with some of my men to ensure the tribes have what they need and are delivering their tributes on time.”

Crassus must know that she will never agree to his terms. He can’t possibly believe that Saxa, or any Chief, see these terms as acceptable or would seek counsel from his pup. It’s laughable. And makes it that much easier for Saxa to do what she came here to do, refuse his offer. 

“My tribe will never agree to these terms.”

“You know what will happen if you refuse: my army will destroy your tribe, your children will be enslaved to Rome and whatever remains of your tribe will be rolled into another tribe led by a leader of my choosing.” Crassus sounds baffled. “What choice do you have?”

Saxa looks him in the eye, lets him see her fire and her strength, her anger; lets him see her certainty.

“To kill you all.”

  

  

Saxa leaves the tent with Agron and Nasir right behind her. She’s full of energy, ready to fit, to bite, to claw. Her wolf wants out and Saxa wants to run till she’s too exhausted to stand, on two legs or on four.

The change is effortless, one moments she’s walking on two legs, the next she’s running on four. She runs across the open field heading towards the woods. The wind flies through her fur, her snout scenting, ears listening. Saxa runs and runs and runs, trying to burn out her excess energy and anger. 

Her wolf wants to turn around and sink her teeth into Crassus, to rend his flesh and taste his blood. Bust Saxa knows to kill him now would serve no purpose. Should he fall another general would take his place. It does not good to kill one man far away and out of sight of his army. The army would come regardless.

When Saxa kills Crassus it will be in front of his army with her pack surrounding her. It was the only way to protect their land and return the other tribes to theirs.

When she stops miles later, she’s not alone. Always faithful Agron is a step behind her. He’s a beautiful wolf, strong and agile, his green eyes shockingly bright and his fur a tawny brown. He bows his head, gently nudging at her snout, checking to make sure she’s okay. Offering comfort.

Saxa nudges back, butts her head against his, nipping at his ear. He licks across her snout and suddenly they’re nipping and snapping at each other, playing as they did when they were pups together.

They roll around on the forest floor, leaves and twigs and burrs snagging in their coats. Agron pins her down, blanketing her back and nudging his head into her neck. He rolls off when she nudges her shoulder, showing his belly. Saxa nips at his neck before letting him roll back onto his front. They both shift, laying on the forest floor, laughing.

“Feel better?”

Instead of answering Saxa just laughs, slapping her palm against Agron’s belly. She feels relaxed, clear headed and ready to face the pack when they get home.

 

XXXXXX

 

Belesa is waiting for them when they get back, Donar and her father right behind her. Saxa ignores them, ignores her entire pack to get her arms around Belesa. She takes a moment to breath her mate in; reassure herself that Belesa is okay

The pack gathers in the great hall, filling it to overflowing with wolves and humans. They all stand before Saxa waiting for her to give them their orders. They’re fierce warriors, brave and strong and willing to sacrifice their lives for the good of their pack. Even the humans, the fragile and weak humans have earned their place to standing in this hall, the hall of her ancestors.

They’re her responsibility, all of them; her wolves and the humans, the pups and the elders, those to weak to fight and those to wounded to lift their sword. They’re her responsibility and she will ensure their survival.

A voice calls out, asking the question that everyone is wondering. “What did that cunt want to speak about?”

Ganicus, wayward Ganicus with his stubborn refusal to let Saxa turn him, steps forward, waiting for an answer.

“Our surrender.”

“And what did you tell him?” Ganicus smiles up at her, cocky and laughing, knowing her answer. Saxa returns his smile, looks out across the hall and lets everyone see her smile, see her stand before them sure and strong and ready.

“That we will kill them all.”

 

XXXXXX

 

Days later they’re encamped at the edge of the same field where Saxa, Agron and Nasir met with Crassus. The Roman army has advanced and they rest across from the, on the far side of the field, a huge empty field between them. This is the place.

Tomorrow, with the rising of the sun, they will show Roman that the tribes east of the Rhine will not bend the knee. Saxa will show them that her pack is to be respected and feared. Tomorrow she will ripe out Marcus Crassus’ throat.

 

XXXXXX

 

That night Saxa looses herself in Belesa’s body, fucking her hard and fast and desperate. Riding her down to their bed of pelts and fur. Belesa lays beneath her, spread out and wanting, waiting for Saxa and bite and scratch and taste and fuck. 

She starts at her neck, nuzzling Belesa’s scar, licking over the raised skin, worshiping the spot where so many years ago, Saxa bit down and made Belesa hers, made her pack.

Her hand map Belesa’s body, skimming her sides, down to her hips, her legs to the hot, wet place between her thighs.

She licks down, down over her collarbone to her breasts. Lapping and laving at her nipples before biting down on one, hard, at the same time she drives her fingers into Belesa’s dripping cunt. 

Belesa opens for Saxa, her legs splayed wide while her hands tear at Saxa’s hair.

Saxa works her way down Belesa’s body, sucking a bruise on the sharp jut of her hip. Saxa loves Belesa’s hips, they fit perfectly in her hands. She loves the feeling of the sharp, thin bones beneath her hands, loves leaving handprints and bruises there, signs of her possession.

Dragging her tongue down, down, down Saxa dives into her warm, wet cunt. She laps and tongues and sucks at Belesa’s folds, tasting her sharp sweetness. Belesa has handfuls of her hair, yanking and pulling and trying to direct Saxa right where she wants her. But Saxa refuses, working on her clit and her folds, working Belesa up till she’s dripping all over Saxa’s face. Till she’s crying and shaking and her legs are squeezing Saxa’s waist so hard they’ll leave bruises and she’s nearly pulling chunks of Saxa’s hair out.

Saxa follows when Belesa pulls her away, too sensitive for more touch. Saxa tongues her way back up Belesa’s body, leaving traces of Belesa’s own cum across her body. She hikes one of Belesa’s legs around her hip and starts grinding against the other. She’s close, so close. Needs to get off with Belesa under her. Wants to get her mate off one more time before they both collapses.

She knows Belesa’s still too sensitive but Saxa shoves four fingers into her and revels in her scream of pleasure and pain. Belesa bucks up against her hand, trying to get away from Saxa’s fingers at the same time she tries to them in deeper. She’s begging Saxa for more, to not stop, never stop, fuck fuck fuck, driving her leg up into Saxa, rubbing and sliding in all the right places.

They’re so close.

Saxa leans down into Belesa’s neck, sniffing and nuzzling before fitting her teeth along Belesa’s scar; the scar she wears proudly, the scar Saxa left when she sank her fangs into Belesa’s long thin neck under a full moon and made Belesa hers in this life and the next, making her pack, mate and wolf.

Saxa bites down, sinking her teeth into Belesa’s neck, breaking skin. The taste of Belesa’s blood sends Saxa over the edge. She howls into Belesa’s neck. Beneath her Belesa is shuddering and crying, her nails dragging down Saxa’s back.

Saxa collapses onto of Belesa, exhausted and out of breath. Belesa’s hands rub up and down her back for a moment before turning Saxa’s face to hers, kissing her.

Sliding off of Belesa, Saxa curls around her mate, tucking Belesa tight against her. She feels alive but sated, inside her wolf purrs with contentment.

She doesn’t know it yet but Belesa won’t fight tomorrow. As Alpha Saxa can’t risk the life of the pack’s Beta, as her mate, Saxa can’t risk Belesa’s life. They’ll fight about it tomorrow, Belesa demanding to fight by her side before unhappily bowing to her Alpha’s demand. But that’s for tomorrow, right now Saxa just wants to lay with her mate till Belesa falls asleep.

It doesn’t take long; Belesa always falls asleep easily in Saxa’s arms. She wishes she could follow her mate into sleep but Saxa knows she won’t sleep tonight. Can’t sleep.

Saxa gently disentangles herself from Belesa and exits her tent. Outside Agron is waiting for her. He’s got fresh scratch marks and bruises along his arms and there’s a fresh bite mark on his neck, a sign of Nasir’s possession and passion. Saxa has no doubt he wears the same marks and that Agron left him worn out and exhausted in their tent.

“You seem well satisfied.” Agron smirks; always proud of Nasir’s marks of ownership, proud of his mate and how far he’s come. Proud that Nasir wears Agron’s mark as well.

“As do you.” Saxa smiles. “Nasir sleeps?”

“He does. I want him well rested and ready for tomorrow.”

“I have no doubt Nasir will kill as many of those fuckers as he can sink his teeth into, take his revenge for all the hurt Rome has caused him.”

“We both will.” Agron’s smile is so bright Saxa can’t help returning it.

Together they walk through the campgrounds, weaving their way from campfire to campfire, checking on their pack mates. Her warriors welcome them, sharing their wine and their jokes, playfully teasing Agron for his bruises and bite marks.  

Some of her pack has already shed their human form, letting their wolves out in anticipation of tomorrow’s battle. They brush up against her, letting her run her hands through their fur, a sign of trust and respect. 

Saxa walks among her pack reveling in their trust and respect, in their love. Her pack has always been close, tightknit and trusting the way human tribes are not. It’s the result of keeping themselves so far removed from the human world, of guarding their nature. Saxa loves her pack; she’s proud of it and will not let them down.

Back at her tent she sends Agron back to his tent and Nasir’s waiting arms. Dawn is fast approaching and Saxa sits outside her tend, watching the moon make its way across the night sky.

She lets herself feel its power, lets her wolf draw strength from it. Inside she gathers all her anger, remembers all the insults to her pack, all the doubts about her leadership, the mockery that Rome would make of her and her pack. She remembers the loss the other tribes have suffered; lets herself think about those dragged off in chains. She lets herself think of what could happen to Belesa should Saxa fail tomorrow, imagines her in chains, raped and tortured, her true nature discovered and used before being slaughtered like an animal. Saxa thinks of blood and death and revenge, she lets the anger well up inside her, the determination to succeed, the suborn fucking pride of her pack and her ancestors.

By the time the sun crests the sky, she’s ready.

 

 

Across the open field the Roman army gathers. Men and weapons in numbers far larger than hers. They spread across the field and blend into the horizon. Their banners and Eagles and heralds stand out against the bright blue sky. Their horses neigh and stomp the ground. Their artillery stand tall.

Far across the way Saxa can just make out Marcus Crassus sitting atop a white horse, his silver armor glinting off the sun. An entire army surrounds him. Protects him. He will not be protected for long. 

Saxa turns to her pack, to the entire army that’s gathered under her command and she swell with pride. Despite being outnumbered, despite the odds against them, despite the knowledge that this army has already destroyed numerous tribes, despite all this they stand tall. Ready to run forward and throw themselves into battle.

Her pack stands in front of her, some of them on two feed, some of them on four. The Romans know the rumors of the wild wolves of the north. Today they will learn the truth and they will never forget it.

There is a hush, every warrior looking to her to lead them forward. Saxa lets her voice ring out, lets it carry with the wind so that all can hear her words.

“They think we are ordinary men. They think us weak. They think it is their right to rule over our lands and over us. They think they are our masters. But they are wrong. We are not men, nor are we their fucking slaves. We will tear their throats out with our teeth. We will rip their hearts out with our claws. After today, they will never forget who we are. We are wolves!”

They respond with a roar that reaches the heavens. Saxa rides the sound wave forward, pushing off into a run, knowing her pack will follow and the rest will follow her pack. They run, full speed, charging towards the Roman’s frontline.

Agron runs besides her, Nasir and Donar behind him. They’re surrounded by their pack, running into battle together. They get closer and closer, all around her warriors shift, shedding their human skin to embrace their fur and claws. At the sight the Romans shrink back in horror and confusion, their line weakening.

Saxa will shift but not yet. Not till she’s found Crassus and brought him down. He will know whom his killer is when she rips out this throat and tastes his blood. 

They crash into the Roman line, wolves and men tearing and slashing and stabbing at each other. Saxa’s knives are gripped in her hand, the metal warm, the blades already covered in blood. She moves from Roman to Roman, dispatching them with ease. They fall at her feet, no match for her strength and speed. They die with looks of surprise on their face, disbelief that a woman brought them to ground, that the might of Rome could not protect them.

All around her men are falling, blood running, guts spilling. The cries of men and the howl of wolves fill the air. It’s chaos and horror and Saxa revels in it, feeds off the frenzy.

Up ahead Crassus sits atop his horse, his guards surrounding him, protecting him, allowing him easy kills, one warrior at a time.

Saxa fights her way to him, killing anyone who steps in front of her, Agron and Nasir covering her back. Crassus’ guards fall to her knives and Agron’s sword.

When she gets to him he looks surprised, confused for a moment. He swings his sword down, using his height atop his horse to his advantage. But Saxa’s too quick, dodging the blade and using Crassus’ momentum to pull him down to the ground.

He rolls to his feet quickly, sword already in motion. His steel meets her knives and for a moment they’re still, staring at each other, hatred and contempt on their faces.

“I’m going to kill you now you Roman cunt.” Saxa growls at Crassus.

“You’re welcome to try.” Crassus shoves forward, knocking her back. He comes forward, sword swinging as Saxa parries his strikes. She lets him come, absorbing each blow, waiting for her opening.

He’s more skilled than she gave him credit for. But he’s not nearly as good as he thinks he is. He leaves himself open for just a moment and Saxa drives her knife under his armor and into his gut. He steps back, shocked. It’s a damaging blow but not a killing one and Crassus adjust his grip on his sword and comes forward.

Saxa drops her knives and lets her wolf free. She’s ready to kill.

Crassus comes at her, stabbing down and swinging up, trying to find her neck. He misses every time. Finally, his arm tiring, Crassus swings wildly, leaving his entire body open. Saxa leaps, her weight crashing into him, sending them to the ground. He lays there, gasping for breath, staring up at her in shock.

Saxa would smile if she could, her triumph shining out through her eyes. But just as she’s ready to rip his throat out she feels a searing pain in her side, feels blood dripping down her fur. He tried to gut her the stupid fuck.

Before he can twist the knife and try again Saxa opens her maw and clamps it around his throat. Her teeth sink in easily. His scream fills her ears while his blood fills her mouth. With a vicious growl she yanks, ripping Crassus’ throat out just as she promised she would.

She looks down at the great Marcus Crassus. The richest man in Rome, so rich he bough himself an army to prove it. Now he’s just another dead Roman lying in the dirt. Lifeless eyes staring up at nothing, blood spilling from his wound, body growing stiff and cold.

Around Saxa the battle still rages. Donar and Lugo are ripping through a group of archers while Ganicus gleefully takes down a group of men, beside her Nasir has killed Crassus’ pup Tiberius and Agron tears the guts out of a general. All across the field Roman soldiers fall to Saxa’s pack and their allies.

The Roman’s numbers have shrunk, their artillery has been destroy and their formation is in tatters but still they fight on, refusing to accept defeat.

Saxa runs back into the fight, Agron and Nasir on her heels.  

There are still Romans to kill.

  

XXXXXX

 

When the fighting finally stops the once green field is painted red with blood, slick with mud and guts and tears. Blood covers everyone and everything. The death toll is huge on both sides and the mourning will be great.

But Saxa stands victorious.

The remaining Romans are rounded up, at her mercy. They look broken, defeated, shamed at their loss and position of captive. A part of Saxa still calls for blood, still wants to rip and tear and kill but she pushes it down. Her wolf has had its fill of death.

She will let them live with their humiliation and to serve as a warning to Rome.

“You will leave these lands. You will go back to your Roman masters and tell them what happened here. You will tell them what kind of death awaits anyone who dares step foot on the lands east of the Rhine. You tell them what happens when you face wolves.”

Saxa has no doubt that some day in the not too distant future another Roman, too rich too arrogant too proud, will buy himself an army and make his way north in search of glory and riches. They will believe that Crassus was a fool and the story of humans who can turn into wolves is the crazed ramblings of defeated soldiers. They will think themselves more than capable of bringing the barbarian tribes to heel and that they will be willing to bow to Rome.

They will believe all of this and they will be wrong.

Saxa and her pack will be waiting to prove them wrong.

 

End


End file.
